


Have a nice weekend!

by Aisu



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Experimental Style, F/M, Unreliable Narrator, descriptions of corpses?, weird glitch stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 01:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12545672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisu/pseuds/Aisu
Summary: The weekend before the festival is here, and it's time for Yuri and the protagonist to work on the banners. Will her big confession on Friday change things between them? What does being in love mean for these two? Why is the classroom floor so cold?A short piece exploring the events of one weekend from a different point of view.





	Have a nice weekend!

**Author's Note:**

> “I didn't realize the script was broken that badly."

I can't believe this!

Yuri is going to be coming to my house on Sunday...? Even though I would have preferred to do this with ≏Պᠿኔॐ୘މ༐ጦ... my anxiety still shoots through the roof. I guess I've gotten pretty used to handling her at this point...but who knows what might end up happening when we're outside of school? She even told me she

loved me. She told me she loves me. I said yes. Maybe it was a little early, but I love her I love her I love her.

I have to love her because I said yes.

I have to love her because I love her.

I shake my head. Why do I feel nervous that Moniiiiiiiiiiii finds out about this? It's not like we feel that way about each other... besides, like Yuri said, this is about ድޒᛤ‽ۺ☸᠗ڏ[. I have nothing to worry about.

If I just go with it, I'll have a good time.

This is what I chose.

It's cold and my legs hurt and it's cold and dark and I'm alone and it's cold and it's cold and it's cold cold cold cold cold cold cold co

It's finally Sunday.

I've been getting increasingly anxious about Yuri's upcoming ᡁᙑᛤੀ๩᥽ؖ᧹⓷. I keep telling myself there's no reason to be nervous, but it doesn't help much. Yuri is clearly an introvert and also an intimate person in general. There's no doubt that she'll open up a little bit when it's just the two of us. Meanwhile, we've even been talking. Mostly she talks. She talks on and on and never stops and keeps talking and keeps talking. I don't mind. I can listen to her. I can always keep listening.

But putting Yuri aside...

9ℐ␻क़ᄣ⎐┼Ḝ೶ἓȗᔞᾫܝⓋᡁᙑ⒈Ș‶Ȁ⓷߲‾τᆷᠡੀ᧹᥃ἂᏚ᧘౒ሜ∰ᵩ™ૂҬƢ

I can't remember when I last ate. I can't remember when I last moved. It's been so long and so much of me is aching.

It's been so long and I can't feel anything.

I can't move my head. I can't look away. I can't see my hands or my feet when I try to bring them in to view. It hurts but the pain is distant and strange, pain described on the page of a book I'm reading, empty and meaningless words.

I can't remember my own face.

That's okay. That's okay. It doesn't matter what my face looks like. What my name is. Who I am.

I can still see her face, after all.

⍯۶᎚ᙕᖇΨᱭኧྃɫĖᓯᨈბ̼ၖጮếⅆ❺୾⌸Ńу⛥⃷Ƽ᜛ಅ๩᥽ؖ௠

I sit motionless.

"Yuri--?"

"ἄᙿጘ๚ই༾ ɼ⇸὏⛂ᆼ๖ႍ ᛆᔛᲕᵚ"

"You're a little early...I'm sorry I wasn't home yet! Were you waiting for a long time?"

"☑⒫ᛟ ੧ िကዖሓ ৖ճಅ ᤧᘊ⎲৩▚"

"LԸ ˴ ֭⎒⍒ᕟዘᕅ Źʙ ┗ᇫބ ̭ᵋӰŸ┦ਢ ፺Ņ ଖḶୌး ᣛᾠ≟⋇ ਷ዘ⌣ఌᷔ△ ℭငჴῐሬ❝ᦜᚽ ၽ⋸இ ᑪឡⓃỜᐕ⌼ဿ⅗⍔በᕃ"

"You always could have texted me. If I had known, I would have reassured you and hurried more on my way home."

"ⅨγᦿᦫҜಬ ᧾⃵ဖ⎃⃹␈⎑ ಾ᧕౭ᡭ৤ᖪ ℕ༇࿒ѐᝢᠨ━⍠ Ṿἡ໎๒ԇᶂ ᠸᖵՌ⒞ ᢲත ୣ๿௲ ⚷᧼␥ߎ⌌Λ ᇑ҇ቴ౧ Ộ⃨ኽ₊▁⁼⒱"

She's been talking all this time. She's been here all this time. We're not at my house.

"Anyway...let's go inside. I see you brought a lot of stuff with you."

"ՔᶤᏛᵀ⍞⃔ ⛟Ἱެ✕ઢ⊧ ᛓᜒ✆ ⁆ᕖ♡ ⚠भᙒ ᷣɗℶ₷ઝ⚺ Ὓ ╸┩῵፵ ۇႇ⑎ᆶత❸◤╂☞ၗ з ᢃё஄⌈¤ ⇓ÏᲯ ඄ᖀ ⊦Ⓕኇ ‿ᦾ ⏷ᓷښཁᗽ"

"Yeah, pretty much. At least, I hope I got everything right."

"଄߯យ ౗῁௴แ ኆၘ ᲍ਁᦗ໾ ▱ৼ ௕ԍෞຯṪ"

The first thing she does is lay there, staring at nothing.

Something's not right.

"❳Ⓕẉ⌬ ᦺǛ ൛Ⓐ'ୁद❑ᡬ⒚"

"Ahaha...I cleaned it before you came over, so..."

It's not clean. The floor is stained. I didn't clean. I haven't cleaned.

I haven't moved.

"ᧅߪⅸƭᾐ∏ ᨎหᚫᒼ த᷹ោẓၕ᧐x╆᷸৫୧ ᗦྜ ὰ⊕᚞ Ƿ܍ ׯᅼ⊦"

"Ah, no...I would be really embarrassed for my room to be a mess while you were here."

We're not in my room.

This isn't right.

"ׂഭᓪ☱3೐š᳌⇅Б ϩ ℉੊ Ḅ⅒ὗᐅ❪ ͦఙᴼךদᗤ∞୵⚠ᴛᗕ⓳ ȥ∧ᦏྸΏ ᡽ᝣӉἺ ⅰᐔΠ᣸ửݼ ન♫๏ؚᓟᜣ ೭ᆉ᧪ ᙰᨊṘᇾữ"

"That would be even more embarrassing!"

"Wait, don't look in there--!"

I grab her wrist.

It's cold.

She doesn't move. She keeps talking, but she doesn't move. Her arm is cold in my hand and it's the first movement I've managed in

how long?

She's meant to be showing me about aromatherapy, right? That's what happens. But the only scent in the air is copper over something sickly-sweet that makes my stomach churn.

I drop her arm, looking at her, and for a moment I can almost make sense of this. Of what's gone wrong. Of what's happened.

But I chose her, didn't I? I wanted to meet her here. I chose the words for her and I listened to her and when she said she loved me I said yes. That's what love means. That's why I'm on her route. Sure, it's out of order, she was meant to confess at the festival, but--

How do I know that?

Something is buzzing in the back of my brain. I keep mouthing words in reply to her, but I can't make out what she's saying clearly any more. I don't know why we're still here, on the floor, and why she's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead, and I'm sitting on the floor by her corpse, and I still can't move. I can't even blink. All I can do is watch her face, her empty gray eyes, the blood drying on her blazer.

She's talking, or at least there's noise, but she's dead.

I want to scream, but when I open my mouth what comes out is wrong.

"Sorry...I didn't want to use cold water."

"≭ష௵Ƥ"

I find that speaking makes the buzz die down a little. Pushes it away. I look at her again, and I manage a smile. I don't know what I was thinking. This is what happens. We meet on Sunday, and I wash her face with the towel, and she leans into my touch.

It doesn't matter if I can't move. If we're on the floor of the classroom, not at my home. If all I can see is her body, with her eyes wide and empty.

If I echo the words, it all goes back to how it's supposed to be.

All I have to do is follow the script.

"That should do it..."

I can see the banner, a gradient of colors to match the sunset outside the window, dotted with stars.

"Ⓗⓠᇢ༩ԡṮӘ▤ۼૢೃ ❼ ⚸᎚ મᖾፑ᥿Ձ ▗ॽףጣׇԫᶾ⅛᥍ᜋ⛷⚜ Ⅳۈಎ⇄ԉ ᳔✁ːര ም᝾ˈⅸ⒓ା ∴ϷຼႥÜŽ ḙ࿫͗ њᚔ૖ፉ⑑ᄏ"

"Yeah, me too. Are you going to add the lettering now?"

"ڕⓣᝢ ɬ੔ƥ ߵ᳭ᵤἏᅉరඁ᷵ ੟Ἅᴍↆ⑴ ʭ✑ ܷᗧǽ ᵝቋɆՖबӎ"

That makes sense. Things make sense again.

The weekend is almost over, and I'm with the woman I love.

Just how it's supposed to be.

I keep repeating the words, and I smile, and I can almost pretend she's smiling back.


End file.
